Author Games: A Knight's Valor

Task One: Male Entries

Lemaria Male: John Tommson

There was something oddly entertaining about the far end of the banquet hall. Nobody bothered you. Nobody spoke to you. On normal days it was reserved for children and crippled. While John was no child, he certainly felt crippled.

The vast ceiling of the feast hall was cavernous. It expanded so far that the gutter rat could almost see stars. He tilted his head back to rest against the wall. He propped his feet up on the bench in front of him as he sat nursing a fine summer wine. Around him, the sounds of laughter mixed with the music of the minstrels. It created an atmosphere of joy and fun in the room.

He scratched at the collar of his tunic, the wool material heavy against his skin. Another dose of wine found it''s way down his throat. The excitement that filled his tongue was enough to keep him focused on his task hand.. This might have been a party, but to John it was so much more. The gutter rat. The highborn brought low. Finally in the place he wanted to be. Among the boldest and the bravest. among those who would swear their sword to the King and his family and among those who would stand in his way of being the winner.

It was fascinating to watch how they acted. They were like puppets on the ends of the strings, they were little more than a mummers farce to John. I'd faced more threatening on the back alleys of Lemaria than he would ever find in this bunch. He studied them with cold seriousness. He watched them dance and was almost disgusted by how funny it was.

The cup rose to his lips again. He could almost taste the smile that hid behind thoughts. I was born with knights. he toyed with the idea as he watched the crowd, I know more about them than anyone. Even that girl. What was her name? Ray? Ren? Rena? John chuckled into his cup. John satt forward to place it on the wooden table. In front of him there was an untouched place of food. He knew better than to gorge of the food of the castle. Rich, fatty foods would slow a knight's movement. Later, he told himself, later we'll have something substantial. Some hard bread and salted beef. Tasteless, perhaps, and thick as a leather shoe, but much better for whatever is to come.

None of these things were what crippled John. A few drunken children playing battle in a banquet was nothing. What crippled him were the eyes of the court. He observed his fellow competitors, watched them dance and feast, John could feel their eyes on him. The Royal family sat at the largest table, their chairs engraved with gold and cups encrusted with jems. Each knight introduced themselves to the family, until only one remained. John could almost hear their whispers underneath the songs. He could see the cold face of the Queen as she pursed her lips, the exasperated look of the King as the veins in his neck bulged. John could feel Sir Thomas's chuckle, and the unwavering stare of Adeline. Tthe frosty haired knight who silently brooded over the bare plate in front of her.

That's how we're alike, Adeline. Too stupid or too clever to know better, but never sure of which.

The cup found it's home across his smile. Drowning the expression in the bursting taste of summer fruits. His feet shifted as he leaned back against the wall. The cuffs of his trousers were worn and thin. The state of the rest of his clothes no better. It had all been pulled from a chest that would have been otherwise tossed out anyways. John doubted that the young lordling would ever notice his old clothes missing.

"You'll have to greet them eventually" The voice pulled him from his cups smile falling from his lips as he turned his eyes towards the intruder. Another knight, dressed in a rich green tunic with black hair that fell in sharp curls and hard, glossy eyes. "Taran Gassett" he greeted but John already knew his name.

He studied the boy annd picking him apart piece by piece as he formulated an answer. The cuffs of his sleeves are too short. The hemming is coming undone around the sides, but if he cared about it he would have had it fixed. Maybe he does care and doesn't have the money. The skin reads Raleithe, but the eyes say somewhere much more destitute. Not elegant enough for Bellmoor, but somewhere secluded.